Angels and Insects

I realize that invoking a philosopher to stop a tantrum flies directly in the face of one of my parenting goals—that of helping my children, these products of two overeducated and consistently over-thinking parents, blend in with everybody else. But my commitment to that goal is fading. I’d rather my children be who God created them to be, encompassing not only their unique gifts and talents and personhoods, but where and when they were born, and yes, even who their parents are. And when this mother’s back is against the wall, I know my Renaissance philosophers better than I know my Dr. Spock, or T. Berry Brazelton, or even Dr. Sears.